The Worst that Could Happen
by Fangs of Lightning
Summary: Waking up with barely any memory of the prior night was something that had happened to Dezel only twice before. Both times hadn't been as bad as this.


This ship hasn't left my mind for weeks.

The Worst that Could Happen

Most everything after arriving with Zaveid was a blur. He could remember complaining; it had been difficult for him to find his way around with so many people together in one room. The wind could only be so helpful when it was that crowded. Rose's voice. Insisting that he'd be able to handle whatever she'd been drinking. Dezel frowned and sat up. A soft moan from the side grabbed his attention as a hand grabbed his hip. Slender, a ring on one of the fingers... Who...

"A few more minutes before you run off?"

That voice. One he knew all too well. Dezel jerked away from the arm around his body and shook his head. It was impossible. There was no way he-

"Is something wrong Dezel?"

"Waking up with you." He'd rather have sex with Zaveid completely sober than what was happening now.

"Oh don't be like that." The arm was removed from his waist and he felt her stretch. Arching slightly off the mattress, the wind told him.

Dezel turned the wind away from her to inspect the rest of the room. It definitely wasn't his hotel room. Possibly a new building altogether. Not Symonne's either; the only thing that wouldn't come with the room was a paper lying on the table and the clothes strewn about the floor.

"Do you remember anything about last night?"

"Showing up to the party. Ordering a drink. Not much after that."

Part of him didn't want to believe her. But she'd never lied to him before, as much as he hated to admit it. He could hear the rustle of cloth as she got up off the bed and he put his face in his hands. Of all the mistakes he'd ever made, this had to be the worst. A metal band around his ring finger pressed against his face. Slowly pulling his hands away, Dezel sent the wind out again. To the table, blowing around Symonne as she lifted the paper.

"Now this is truly magnificent," she giggled. "Which one of us do you suppose proposed?"

"It must've been your idea," he growled. There was no way he'd ask Symonne of all people to marry him. Drunk or otherwise. "I was content just to fuck."

"Obviously not." Symonne waved the paper at him. "We wouldn't be husband and wife if that was true."

Being quiet or telling her to shut up wasn't the best argument, but how could he honestly argue with that? He didn't even remember last night.

"I wasn't thinking straight."

"Just admit that you were wrong about us." Symonne's arms looped around his neck and over his shoulders. Her small breasts pressed against his back and he wanted to throw her off. To just stand up and leave. Running away never helped him before; why would it do any good now?

"Wrong about us? I hate you."

"Clearly not as much as you've led yourself to believe."

"You planned this, didn't you?"

That soft giggle next to his ear was infuriating. Dezel jerked away from the slender fingers caressing his chest and snarled. Damn this woman.

"How could I have? The both of us have no memory of the ceremony. I wasn't the one who got you drunk." She smiled wide and nuzzled the side of his throat. "This is nothing more than fate pulling us together once more."

"Fate?" Dezel scoffed; he'd never put much stock in fate. "I make my own choices."

"So you do. How do you plan to explain this one to yourself, I wonder?"

"Get off me."

Pushing her arms away and standing left her giggling on the bed behind him.

"Planning to run away again? You remember how well that worked last time, don't you?"

"It works well enough." Dezel didn't bother turning, grabbing his pants and pulling them on.

"Accept what has happened. We wouldn't be married if you hadn't agreed to it."

"I was drunk, you damn-" Dezel cut himself off. She had a point, in a way. Even drunk, people didn't get married for the hell of it. And no priest would marry two drunken seraphim unless they were insistent. Besides that, if she was so insistent on going with it rather than calling it off...

"You have a month to change my mind," he growled. "If I still hate you then, our marriage is over."

"Fair enough."


End file.
